When A Fire Starts To Burn
by LAW0395
Summary: Klaus succeeds in taking control of New Orleans. Marcel and his witches have disappeared. Caroline is devastated after the death of Tyler and begins to spiral out of control in her search for revenge. Klaus/Caroline. Set in New Orleans, in the near(ish) future of season 5/1 of TVD and TO.


**Ok, so this story will follow the plot of what I would like to see happen in the future of both The Vampire Diaries and The Originals. I will refer to the past in some chapters, however this story will begin after Klaus has defeated Marcel and his witches, and has taken back control of New Orleans. The perspectives will vary, depending on the situation, but will mainly be through Klaus and Caroline's eyes. **

**Prologue**

New Orleans

It's the middle of January and dawn has almost broken over the city. You're bored, tired and desperate for a coffee, but you cannot leave your post for another forty-six minutes, so you wait. It's been an unnaturally cold winter; the streets were lined with frost and the air gave a sharp kick to your lungs with every breath. You still find it eerie to stand out in the night without a jacket, but you're still just a baby vampire, not even a year old, so you assume it is something you'll eventually get used to. Just like the metallic tang of human blood the first time it touched your lips, and the uncontrollable hunger that burned through your veins soon after became habit, even enjoyable.

You check your watch. Thirty-nine minutes left. You think of Magda, waiting at your apartment for your return. You remember her heated kisses and the caress of your fingers against her breasts; your skin prickles against the cold. Emotions endlessly ravage your body and though you push your feet to carry you home, you are quite literally stuck to this sidewalk which you have walked a thousand times already tonight and so you resign yourself to the wait, eyes watchful, ears perked.

Twenty-four minutes. You have nothing special to report; aside from the two drunken teenage girls who stumbled into your path, the block has been clear all night and your compulsion has improved lately, so the girls will go home to their beds and remember nothing of your crimes in the morning. Seventeen minutes. Eventually the sound of stilettos against the sidewalk grabs your attention and you melt into the shadows, deciding that another hit of blood will curb the boredom for a while and satisfy the lustful feeling in your stomach. You flex your fingers, feeling the suspense of the chase begin to build in your pulse. The woman stops, fumbles in her purse for a second, and really, it's almost too easy, and you _pounce_-

The force against your shoulder knocks you back and you feel the bone crack out of place. Your fangs slide over your lips furiously, defensively, as if this girl thinks she can _defeat_ you-

She lunges again and kicks your right kneecap; the pressure makes your legs buckle and you are kneeling before her, this blonde woman-child and she looks at you, really looks into the structure of your face, and you are momentarily struck by the softness in her blue eyes-

You rise, and she shunts forward, pushing the stake through your ribcage and into the crevice of your heart, and you can feel it, can feel the splinters tear your greying flesh; agony twists your features as you stare into the eyes of your murderer and she lowers you gently to the cold sidewalk.

Three minutes. The sun rises, warm and comforting against your face, which is odd, because normally it burns and blisters hot wounds onto your skin, and so you cling to the last shred of your humanity that was not left blackened by the disease of vampirism and it shines through your skin in folds of grey and black and gold and it _hurts_-

10 seconds. You thought you would have a millennium, or a century, but your measly year will have to do and the last sound you hear before you succumb to the darkness is stilettos against the cold sidewalk and you wonder if maybe this is what death sounds like to the predator that has fallen victim to his own prey.


End file.
